Super Mess
by Cobwebbs
Summary: All Clark wanted to do was keep his head down and survive one semester in Gotham. No superpowers, no worried parents, no problems. Until he makes the stupid mistake of playing hero and saves the most ruthless snob he's ever met. Bruce Wayne was now the root of all his problems. Pa was right, Gotham is the home of freaks.


**_A/N) Uuuum . . . I don't know what this is._**

 ** _I'm pretty sure it's going to be a one-shot._**

 ** _I just wrote it out because this idea was rolling around in my head and I just wanted it out so I could move on. I'm still not sure why I thought it up though._**

 ** _Enjoy I guess._**

* * *

Kent's were simple. Easy going. Not really out for extravagance.

Clark Kent was raised like that, even with his extravagant powers.

That's why he was standing, mouth hanging open in awe, at one of the countries most prestigious schools.

Ma hadn't exactly been thrilled he'd be spending a semester here but . . . Here he was. To be fair, her disapproval was mostly due to the environment.

The school was in Gotham City.

And Small town people don't really _fit_ in Gotham. It was it's own special brand of - habitat. Clark had never felt so out of place in all his young life. But he was graduating high school next year and he needed this experience on his Collage application. Metropolis was his goal.

He'd get there. Eventually.

But first he has to brave a few months in Gotham Academy. Get the credit and got home.

"Easy Clark. Just keep your head down and - go." He let out a breath, the smog making him dizzy. Everything here just - _felt_ grayer. Clark wasn't oblivious. He knows why his Pa was so adamant he find another place to do this.

Gotham had a reputation for freaks and monsters.

Even while he was trying to placate his parents he did feel a small inkling of excitement. He was curious to know - just _what_ does Gotham hide in its shadows?

The bell rings.

Clark smiles, hitches his blue jean back pack over his undone blue blazer and walks up the chiseled marble steps. One thing was for sure, Gotham definitely wasn't afraid of its style. The architecture was amazing. A little gothic, but amazing anyway, big and in touch with most of it's past, it had that strange feel, though, that the moment the sun would go down- it would look and become something else entirely. But in the smoky sunlight? It was impressive.

 _Come on Clark. You got this. Another adventure._

"Move it, Hick." Someone shoves past him.

"One side, new guy." Another person shoves.

Clark resists the urge to steel himself in place. That would not be a great start if someone breaks their shoulder on him.

"Hah!" Someone else snorts and purposely shoves him hard. Clark makes a show of falling back. "Go back to your cave." People laugh, someone shouts - other insults follow.

 _Well Dan_ g . . .he hasn't even started yet and already - What was it his shirt or jeans or something? He doesn't have uniform yet . . . maybe that's why -

"Excuse me."

"Oh, finally, I thought those words didn't exist in Gothamite -" Clark stops mid turn.

A tall young man, about his age, just as broad. Definitely smooth in style and physique- only - there was something in the guys eyes that - didn't sit well with Clark.

"Sorry - I didn't mean that." He tries to retract his word anyway.

The guy just nods once, eyes training Clark's clothes, like he's figuring out where he comes from and what he's doing here. It kind of creeps the farm boy out and he really doesn't want to be here at the moment . . .

"Huh, no problem. Well, good luck on your first day. Word of advice - scare them. They'll leave you alone if you give them a good enough reason to." Weird guy smirks.

Clark narrows his eyes in confusion. "Uh-huh, um - thanks?" He's not sure about this guy.

"No problem." And he disappears into the shoving crowd.

Clark gets the feeling he'll be seeing that weirdo again.

* * *

"Ok - just one more hour and I can go to my motel. This'll be great. Finally get away from all these stiff snobs and -" Clark was checking off the list Ma made him write. "Whoops, don't forget to call Ma after this - make up a story about having a good day." He doesn't want them to worry.

Suddenly, someone screams.

The students don't seem fazed as they mill their way out of the building either waiting for their maids or whatever to take them home or getting into very expensive ars to go home on their own. Clarks the only one who heard the scream, then his acute hearing picks up gun shots. Automatic, a squeal of tires - and-

He gasps. The gun runners come racing down the street, one guy pops out of the window in a ski mask. Kids start screaming and scatter. Clark goes focused. The guns go off -

That weird guy!

They were aiming for-

Clark doesn't think. He reacts. He jumps, runs, and shoves the kid down - a stray bullet bounces of his shoulder, it was close enough to look like a miss.

The car roars on down the street and turns so sharply it smashes a mirror.

Clark gasps, brain muddled and looks down at the guy he just saved.

He looks completely unfazed. Like this was just another tea party for him or something. Clark gapes in disbelief.

"Not that I don't appreciate the assist, but, kindly _get_ _off_."

The large farm boy stutters, fumbles and stands awkwardly brushing off his jeans. "Uh, sorry - I didn't - are you ok?"

"Yes. Fine. Thank you." He talks weird too. "Bruce Wayne. Who might I be thanking." He holds out a hand.

"Um - oh - Clark Kent." He smiles nervously, and shakes. The shake is firm - hard even, more so than any hand he's ever shaken of a normal guy. But Clark's already forming the opinion that this particular Gothamite wasn't normal, he can't figure out why or what it was though. "Wait - did you say Bruce Wayne? As in -"

"The Billionaire. Afraid so Mr. Kent." Bruce gives him a reserved smile.

Clark gaps again. Bruce Wayne? The billionaire orphan guy that was known almost everywhere for his travels and company, even little SmallVille gets wind of this young rich Gotham boy's exploits from time to time. _Dang it_ \- he was supposed to be keeping a low profile. This was _so_ not what he wanted to happen. Meeting and getting noticed by Gotham's most prominent youngster was the exact opposite of keeping a low profile. . .

"So - you going to tell me how you did that?" Bruce suddenly speaks, casually placing his hands in his pressed beige pant pockets.

The farm boy's mouth clicks shut, heart suddenly dropping. "Did what?" _You couldn't have . . . there's now way you could have seen that bullet -_

Bruce's eyes connect with his. They don't move - there's something _calculating_ and - _terrifying_ about his stare. Clark's actually _afraid_ to look away.

"Really? Because judging from your timing and the speed that car was going, not to mention the moment when that gun went off - you shouldn't have been able to get to me that fast. Also-" Bruce smirks now and holds up something small and shiny between two fingers. "This bullet crushed itself against your arm." He tilted his head like a cat about to eat a mouse.

Clark's insides freeze. This guy - this _Wayne_ , he . . .

"Well," He does the best thing he knows how. Smiles and acts awkward. "Must have been the adrenalin. And I swear, that bullet never touched me. I'd a felt it." _Stay calm. Stay cool._

Wayne eyes him a moment too long. Clark feels like his brain is melting from panic. _Stop, stop, stop - he cant know. There's no way he could know._

"Well then. Thanks again." He says with a sudden air of finality. Clark gets the heavy and lead filled feeling he's finalizing something in his own head.

A horn goes off.

"My ride, see you around Mr. Kent." Wayne gives him another smirk thing and casually skips down the steps and gets into his fancy black BMW.

Clark lets out a hard breath and runs his hands through his hair. _Good Grief - Ma and Pa were gonna freak!_

He makes the decision to _not_ tell them.

Also, he decides he does not like that Wayne guy. _Not one bit._

So much for keeping his head down.

* * *

 _A truck hit him._

Clark hates himself for not seeing it. But it did - _full force._ Like the driver didn't even _see_ him. What was worse was that the entire thing - including the driver - burned and blew up. The only upside to this was that it was dark and he was in a pretty much abandoned part of the street. _Where_ the thing came from he had no idea. But he did know he was short an outfit and his mother was going to freak if he told her.

Which is why he won't but still - it doesn't make him feel better.

Clark mutters to himself about the terrible luck he's having - then it starts to rain. No, scratch that - to _pour_. _Good Grief._ He's barely clothed and soaked by the time he stumbles through the doors of the seedy motel he's renting in.

The old wrinkly woman behind the desk just glances at him through her bifocals. "Nice Abs." Then she calmly goes back to her newspaper.

Clark gives her an utterly confused look and trots to his room. Did _anything_ phase these people?

He groans and falls on the bed and yanks off the remains of his clothes. "Great, another gold star day for the amazing future journalist, Clark Kent. Dad was right, this place _is_ cursed." Clark tosses the fabric and rubs at his face feeling pretty down right at the moment. He gets up to go to the bathroom.

Roaches scatter the moment he flicks on the bulb, he grimaces and tries incinerating one with his laser vision. It backfires and he lights up the old towel instead. Clark sucks in a breath and grabs the towel and shoves it in the sink, forcing the water on through the rusty spigot. _Seriously_? How was this place allowed to be open?

He turns to go, trips on a loose floor board, barely saves himself by hovering and sits hard on his bed.

There's a mighty crack. The bed literally snaps in half.

Clark has never wanted to scream so badly.

* * *

 _Keep your head down. Keep your head down . . . just don't look at anyone in the eye and nothing bad will happen._

"Mr. Kent, a word."

 _Damn it._

Clark forces a stretched smile and turns to see Bruce Wayne in all his expensive long black coat, white turtle neck, and shiny shoes, looking as in place as Clark looks out. Clark feels a twinge of jealousy.

"Morning, Mr. Wayne."

"That's not necessary. Call me Bruce." That _smirk_ , _that know it-all-smirk_ \- Clark wants to punch it off his face.

"Uhuh, look, it's nice talking to you but I have to go so -"

"Just a moment." Wayne saunters up, Clark kind of _really_ wants to punch him now. "I was wondering-" Those hard blue eyes glance around and land on the farm boy. "I need a favor and you're just the guy to do it." _Smirk_.

"Sorry Mr. Wayne - I don't deal with guys like you." Clark tries to maneuver away. Bruce snorts and stops him by deftly flicking up his hand, a picture between his fingers.

Clark freezes. It's a picture of him walking out of the explosion of the truck yesterday . . .in one piece and - he turns wide angry eyes at Wayne who's still smiling smugly. Clark looses his temper as something suspicious clicks into place and he swear this guy put it into his head. "What the _hell_ do you want. I saved your life and you try to _blow_ me up? Is that a Gotham thank you or am I just lucky." He seethes in Wayne's face.

The jerk just stares right back, doesn't even flinch. "Lucky. I saw what you did, I grew curious - there's enough freaks in this town without you adding to the mix from Kansas."

"Wha-" Clarks at a loss for words, Wayne just glares back calmly, looking _oh so pleased_ with himself. Clark's face contorts as he grabs the expensive collar and shoves him against a wall. "What do you _want_." He spits angrily. Who did this guy think he was anyway? All Clark had been trying to do was keep his head down and accidently saved the guy. Stupid sense of heroism.

"Nothing too complicated, let's just say I'm on a certain crusade and your strengths can help me speed up the process." He speaks so simple, like really this is no big deal.

Clark shoves him away. "Keep your crusades to yourself you freak."

"I'm pretty sure you're the freak, Clark Kent. And believe me, I don't like this anymore than you do. This is a one time thing - I'm not really left with a choice unfortunately, if I was I'd just tell you to get the hell out of my city." The way he said it sounds so congenial . . . Clarks pretty sure there was a threat and insult thrown in there somewhere, but he was too pissed to care at the moment.

"Leave me alone." He stomps off in a restrained rage.

Wayne doesn't budge behind him. "Ten o'clock, behind the old Narrows theater. You can either come or - this lovely photo - hmmm, well, let's just say there are plenty of people who would love this kind of proof."

Clarks blood freezes again. He whips around and glares hard. "You'd ruin my family's life like that?" He can't believe he ever saved this monster.

"I'm willing to do a lot for my mission. So - I'll see you tonight." He gives poor flabbergasted Clark a calm salute. Clark seethes and torches the picture with laser vision in the rich boy's hands.

"Now you've got nothing." Clarks stomach fills with dread as he says those words.

Wayne just flashes him a stony look from the corner of his eye, then _smirks_ and continues on his way.

He's got more . . .

Clark's pretty sure he's screwed so badly.

* * *

 **A/N) They are teenagers. Both moody and unsure of who they are.**

 **I imagine Bruce to be pretty ruthless and a jackass before he becomes Batman. At least when he is Batman, he's ruthless and a Jackass but with purpose. Young Bruce is just lost and all those things sooo - yah. I kind of like him ;)**

 **Poor Clark though . . . I feel like one way or the other, Bruce always drives him crazy.**

 **Hope this wasn't horrible.**

 **Probably a one-shot like I said.**

 **We'll see if anyone cares if it is or not.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
